Home Is Where The Hurt Is
by Loopylou
Summary: Request from mythologyrox. Deeks' is eight years old and his parents are fighting again. Contains spousal and child abuse.


Author's Note-

This story was a request. I'm not sure I've really got it right, but I found it very hard to write. I think it's the hardest thing I've ever written, so please be gentle with me. J

Fair warning- there is mention and limited description of both spousal and child abuse in this story. If that is going to upset you, I'd advise you not to read on.

As always, thank you for reading. J

Lou

Home Is Where The Hurt Is

They were fighting again. Marty Deeks pulled the blankets over his head and curled into the smallest ball that he could manage. Downstairs, something hit the wall with a splintering crash and his mother screamed. The noise seemed to reverberate around the house.

Tears rose behind his tightly clenched lids. His ragged nails dug into his palms. _I should phone the cops,_ he thought distantly, but the phone was downstairs and he'd never be able to get to it without being noticed. It had been almost a month before the bruises had all gone away.

Cold fear and hot shame rose inside of him. _I am only eight years old. How can I save her from him?_

The sound of a boot hitting flesh was followed by another scream. This one was quieter, like the person making it couldn't quite draw breath. The cry trailed off into strangled sobs.

Something else smashed, and suddenly, he couldn't stand it any more. He slipped out of bed, bare feet silent on the worn carpet, and crept to his bedroom door. It squeaked when he opened it and he froze, holding his breath, hoping _he_ hadn't heard the noise. If _he_ had… Marty swallowed hard. It didn't bear thinking about.

"No, no… please don't!" his mother cried shrilly, and the tears he'd been holding back broke free, running down his cheeks to drip off his chin. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"You little bitch!" his father snarled. "I'm gonna kill you! Where've you hidden it? Tell me! Where?"

Marty barely noticed the tears. His mother's soft cries of pain had filled his head and chased everything else away. He was shaking with fear, with anger that he couldn't do anything with.

Three more stairs, and he could reach the phone. He could see into the kitchen. Broken glass littered the floor like the first fall of snow. Something else was splashed on the tiles, something thick and red.

_Sauce,_ he told himself, but even at eight years old, he knew better. Sauce didn't dry in great tacky streaks. Sauce didn't fill the air with the tang of copper, or look almost black in the shadows.

A wrenching sob made him hurry, made him careless. He tumbled down the last two stairs and snatched the phone up, dialling the number with a shaking hand, huddling back against the wall.

"911- what's your emergency?" he heard. A blow to the side of his head knocked him away from the phone before he could answer. Pain rang through his head and for a second, everything went dark.

The receiver fell from his hand, swinging on its cord. He could hear the tinny voice repeating the question, but his mouth was full of blood and he couldn't draw a breath to answer.

His father drew back his foot for a kick, face bright red with drink and rage. Marty curled up in a ball, protecting himself as best he could. The blow never landed.

His mother threw herself at her husband, screaming. "You leave him alone!"

Her lips were split and blood still trickled down her head from a wound on her hairline. _He _threw her aside like she weight no more than a rag doll. She slammed into the wall and slid down it, dazed.

_He_ turned back towards Marty and dragged him to his feet with a hard hand. His fingers dug into Marty's arm hard enough to leave red marks from the pressure.

"So," he said to his son. "So, you think you're a big man, do you?" The smell of scotch and smoke hung heavily on him.

Marty shook his head. He was trembling. Blood dripped onto his Superman PJ top, slowly soaking through to his skin. The glass on the floor had cut his arms and legs.

"You know what big men get when they interfere in my business?" _he _said and balled his fist.

Someone hammered on the door. "Police. Is everything okay?"

_He _glared at the door. "Everything's fine. Go away."

The shadow outside of the frosted glass moved. "Sir, I need you to open the door for us."

_He_ let out a hard breath, staring at the cop outside of the door and bolted towards the back, knocking Marty over. He crawled under the table and curled in a ball, dragging a hand over his bleeding mouth.

Dark trouser legs came into his field of view and he hunched further back, out of reach.

The man crouched down. He had a kind face and sandy hair. "Hey there buddy."

Marty sniffed. "Hi."

"How are you doing?" the cop asked.

Marty shook his head. "He hurt my mom."

"Yes, he did." The cop nodded. "But he won't be able to hurt anyone for a while." He slowly extended a hand. "Why don't you come out from under there and we'll go see your Mom? I'm sure she wants to know that you're okay."

Marty nodded slowly and took the offered hand, letting the cop carry him over the broken glass.

"There's your Mom," the cop said, and put Marty down on the seat next to the blonde haired lady.

She wrapped her arms around him. "Oh, Marty. Are you okay?"

He nodded, but his eyes were fixed on the scene outside of the living room window.

The cops were taking _him_ away in cuffs. He watched until the patrol car drove away.

"He's not going to hurt you any more, baby," his mom said. "I'll make sure of that. I'll protect you."

Marty nodded again. He knew better. It wasn't the first time he'd seen his father carted off in handcuffs, and he doubted that it would be the last.

The sandy haired cop came back into the room. Marty watched him, shaking slowly fading away. _I'll do that one day,_ he promised himself, _I'll protect people when I grow up… because I can't protect them now. _

"Hey buddy," the sandy haired cop said and squatted in front of the sofa. "You did good tonight. You know that?"

Marty sniffed and nodded.

"It was brave of you. Don't you ever forget that." The cop smiled. "We're gonna take you and your Mom to the hospital now." He held out his hand. "Want me to show you how my lights work?"

"Yes please!" Marty said and let the cop lead him out of his trashed home.

_One day, _Martin Deeks promised himself. _One day I'll be the one putting things right. _


End file.
